


follow me down

by nymeriastarks



Category: The Wicked + The Divine
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Study, F/M, Kinda, Metaphors, i love them so much that's the only reason i wrote this, the pretty reckless - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6903658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymeriastarks/pseuds/nymeriastarks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>every time he performed he felt the adrenalin run through his veins like a heroin shot. the crowd was the spark of fire in his body’s distillery. he was alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	follow me down

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trash for them  
> title is a song by The Pretty Reckless

baphomet needed more. 

 

he’d spent his life dreaming of becoming the next hot rockstar, how could he not? always locked in a soundproof basement recording punk rock demos no one bothered to listen to. now he had a public, a voice, a place he belonged in. ananke- no, marian had made his life worth living, even if they had also drastically shortened it.

every time he performed he felt the adrenalin run through his veins like a heroin shot. the crowd was the spark of fire in his body’s distillery. he was alive.

 

she was always there. always next to him. no gentle annie, no badb. just the one and only marian, after all. the only person he knew he could fall for.

most mortals seeked her, not him. seeked the comfort her voice offered. the power and the rawness. most mortals didn’t want his act. didn’t want the anger or the pain.

it bothered him sometimes. had he given up his life to be a second choice, a backup? would he die in two years only to be the morrigan’s puppet?

he would. and he knew. he’d given it all up for marian and he would do it again, for the power his voice now possessed was worth every meaningless year of his life. in exchange he’d gotten hundreds of ears that may not want to listen but would anyway. they would listen to his -their- magic and they’d never forget the moment the music started and their voices merged together.

 

the kings of the underworld. their very own wasteland visited everyday by anyone who truly seeked them. the place where the dark seeped into their bones and you couldn’t tell them apart from their surroundings until the guitar kicked in.

it was despair.

each word and breath and shriek had a meaning impossible to miss and impossible to explain. 

it all stopped. time. pain. life. hearts. and he loved it.

 

sometimes marian sang alone.

and he looked at her and saw the girl who’d spent months locked in a room thinking she wouldn’t survive. the girl who’d walked him to the funeral; the girl who’d made him her king because she couldn’t bear to keep him out of trouble. the girl who’d taken his hand and said, let’s fall together. she was up there, singing along to the demons in her head and he realized she was one with death. one with all. her three faces saw right through dark and light and good and evil and love and lust and he contemplated with well-hidden awe the girl whose voice filled the place to the brim and he let himself drown, for once.


End file.
